Odd Flowers
by Harlequin Love
Summary: Petunia Dursley's reaction to her sister's death. They were sisters once.


**Odd Flowers; **

* * *

She stared at the crying babe, thin worn hands clasped tightly in her lap. Years of washing dishes and a large assortment of housework had made her hands damaged and dry. The last time she had seen Lily's hands, they were surprisingly the same.

"I wanted to do it like mom." Lily explained when Petunia had gathered enough courage to ask her about it. That was almost a year and a half ago. She was also not pregnant then, because that would have been a good time to tell your sister, estranged or not. Maybe even get some pointers because Petunia was certainly round enough for it to be obvious.

"You have magic." Petunia spat angrily. "You don't need to do everything like - like _Muggles_."

Lily had flinched (she always flinched) but didn't look apologetic.

* * *

"You can't do everything with magic. It can't fix everything."

* * *

Petunia had already sent little Dudders off with a babysitter using some stored money she had, and Vernon was at work. The child (...Harry?) wailed on and on but all Petunia could muster up was not annoyance, but bafflement and incompressibility.

So she looked at the letter again. It was written in loping cursive that she vaguely recognized, as well as the name signed at the bottom that had changed her childhood greatly. Petunia also had no idea why the Headmaster at _Lily's old school_ would write a letter and deliver _her nephew_? Didn't these damned wizards have Bobbies?

And how could Lily _die?_

"You have magic you stupid bint." Petunia said, now angry and the letter wrinkled in her hands. "You can't die when you have magic... it, it _just doesn't make sense!_"

As distant as they had become, even though her older sister had left her behind to join some secret society that she wouldn't talk about or bring her into, Petunia still loved her sister because long ago they used to play hide and seek. Except Lily decided to take the game rather seriously and disappear, and it wasn't even Petunia who found her again and again.

They were sisters before some pale _freak _and a _trice-damned owl_ came and ruined it all. Even when Lily had left her behind and their parents only waited by the windows for her 'fantastic' letters, Petunia never stopped hoping that Lily would bring her along to 'Diagon Alley'.

But honest to God, Lily couldn't be dead.

Petunia got up and paced.

It had to be a hoax from that bastard of a human being -_thing!_- that her sister had married. He had pulled horrible jokes on her before and she could even bet her best china on it.

But this was just too cruel. How could he say his wife was dead?

* * *

"Petunia," Lily began, breaking the tension that inevitably built during that last conversation. But they both jumped when a head popped into the fireplace, snapping, "Lily, love, we gotta go."

Petunia glared at the head of James Potter who sneered back at her.

"James," Lily said warningly. "I'll be back in a minute. Go."

He flicked out and sisters looked at each other. There seemed to be a new tension in Lily's shoulders and Petunia couldn't understand what it could be.

"Petunia, Petunia, I love you."

She had put down her cup with a clatter, shaken and almost angry. "What are you talking about?"

"I know you resent me because I got to go to Hogwarts and I never brought you to Diagon Alley but honestly," Lily grabbed her sister's hands, and gripped them tightly. "I love you even if you hate me. And I want you to know that I'm sorry for the mistakes I made. I thought that if you didn't know anything about the Wizarding world, it would make it safer for you."

_"Wh__at are you talking about!_" Petunia finally wrenched her hands from Lily, knocking over her cup. She swore uncharacteristically and started to get up for some napkins when Lily just took out her wand and made the spilt tea vanish with nothing but a mutter.

Lips flat, Petunia sat back down. "What," She repeated "are you talking about?"

She wouldn't look at her, Lily's eyes were drawn to her own wand and so was hers. Petunia could remember when she first saw it, when the sparks flew when Lily touched it, but nothing when she did. It was nearly a colder blow than her rejected heart felt pleas to be a witch.

"I don't know what to say to make you believe me Petunia." The honesty wasn't shocking, Lily rarely lied. "I don't live in a perfect world, and sometimes I wish I never got a letter. But I did and you have to accept that. Its not like everything is a joy and everything is safe."

Petunia was indignant, she remembered, and glared at her pretty sister. She even had the looks, damn it all.

"Lily! You know I love you but Sirius is starting to turn our furniture into droppings-" James cut in suddenly and cut off just as suddenly at the enraged look in Lily's eyes.

"Oh my - James you dolt!" She snapped at her husband. "Look, Petunia, we'll talk about this later, alright?"

Before she could respond, Petunia was already alone.

* * *

It couldn't be, it couldn't be but it must. There was a babe with Lily's eyes crying in her living room and it was too real.

"Lily can't be dead. She's a _witch_. She has all that ridiculous magic and spells and wand things..." Petunia spoke emptily, reasoning to no one and tried to remember what her sister learned at the 'special' school. "She has potions and animals and...and those troublesome friends of hers." Her voice cracked.

"She has _that boy_. She has _magic_."

There was no explanation that she could find to how or why, in herself and in the letter. It told her of circumstances and obligations, of rules. It was threatening, Petunia Dursely knew that much, that she couldn't just push this child away from her for all he stood for.

Petunia Dursley wept along with the Boy-Who-Lived, for all the things that were and weren't.

_The boy is blood_, she had to reason to her husband later, and as much as he hates (and fears) magic, he loves his wife. _Albus Dumbledore_ understood that much, apparently. They were his words after all.

* * *


End file.
